this time around

Her English seems to be improving. Either that or she's grown comfortable with me. I wish she wouldn't have so many reasons to talk, but I know better than that.

The first times we met she was collapsed on her couch, pausing between jobs in a blue uniform t-shirt. We'd spend a polite hour trying not to bother each other as I tutored her daughter in the bedroom. She'd sometimes get up, bring me a drink, sometimes bring me a chair. We would both look at the baby. In the beginning, she only said, "thank you," and I would nod, smile, and come back tomorrow.

More than a year has passed. The baby is full of bilingual chatter, and now her aunt is my student alongside the mother: a freshman and a wanna-be junior. Most of the time, they're here. But more often than I'd hope at a few minutes past my phone rings on an outside line, and a grown voice asks for Ms. P. I know who it is from the Caller ID; I know who it is from the timing. But I don't cut off her introduction. I listen to her more confident voice, and I promise to relay the message. I don't mind if she'd rather call me than the actual attendance secretary. Calling anyone is progress, a change for the better. An attempt to do it right.

Last January, the daughter called nearly every day for a while swearing she'd attend-- and then showed up in August. Better late than never, indeed. This being real life, the return hasn't been triumphant, but it hasn't been half bad. For a full-time worker/full-time student/full-time mother/ full-time teenager, she makes an honest effort. Or at least she tries more than she did when there was neither job nor baby. She's not there yet, but she might be. It's possible. It could happen.

I don't know what her mom expects, but I know what she hopes for. In the meantime we do what we can.